In the Still of the Night
by PrincessAlica
Summary: This is a collborative work by CaptScarlett and Myself, my late contribution to my own Halloween/Friday the 13th challenge.
1. Chapter 1

_Note from one of the author's: I apologize that this entry is late. This work is by myself and by CaptScarlett. I hope you enjoy this._

No matter the exhaustion that she felt during the day, she could not find rest when the darkness descended. For all of the times that she had been accused of having no imagination, it was currently very active. Perhaps it was the absence of everything that had once filled her life, perhaps it was only a natural reaction to what had happened in the last several months. But she was constantly plagued by dreams and nightmares that seemed more real than her current meager existence.

She had woken many times feeling as if someone had just been in the room with her, that the terrifying creatures that Mammy had warned her about as a child were merely hiding in the dark corners of the room or under the bed. But the truth was that her life had been filed with greater horrors than her childish mind could have ever envisioned.

When her eyes would finally slip shut, she would see Brent and Stuart dying side by side as their mother had reported to her, their red hair matted with blood and gore. And then they would rise and shamble towards her, unseeing and uncaring as their hands reached towards her until she could feel their clammy, blood soaked hands pulling at her and tugging at her. She always felt like they would soon tear her from limb to limb. And yet somehow she knew that it wasn't that they wanted to harm her, but both wanted to finally have her to his self. But regardless of whether their intentions were benign or not, the pain in her chest would grow as she would plead and beg with them, but how could they hear when they had no ears? She would cry and scream until one of their hands would tighten around her throat and she would wake gasping for breath. She knew that neither Brent nor Stuart would have ever harmed her, but it did not make the nightmares any less frightening. Their deaths had left a lasting impression on her heart.

But her dreams were not only of the twins, she was now constantly terrified to sleep. Some nights she dreamed of Carey Ashburn, his skin almost as pale as the exposed skull where the top of his head had been blown away. His eyes would open and he would beg her to help him, and yet she was rooted to the spot unable to move. She could do nothing other than stare in shock and horror at the destruction of someone that she had thought that she might grow to love. He had been a friend, and there had been the hope and possibility of more to come. Other nights she dreamed of men that she had watched die in the hospital, screaming in agony as a leg had been sawed from their body or writhing in pain as gangrene set in, of men reaching out for her as they had as she rushed through the mass of dying and injured men laid out in the August sun at the train station in Atlanta. And then other nights she dreamed of the Yankees, of the horror stories that had warned all southern young ladies to be leery. And then in her darkest nightmares she would relive the day that the Yankee had come into the house and she had killed him to save herself. She would wake more exhausted than she had when she had fallen upon the bed. Sleep was no longer an option.

And so finally she had given up. The lack of sleep combined with the lack of food had withered her like a fragile uprooted plant in the desert. The skin had become pinched and taut around her mouth and eyes. And instead of waiting in the darkness for the haunts and terrors of a child's mind she finally decided to venture down stairs, for at least then, she would be disturbing no one. Even if she could not rest, she had no desire to disturb any of the other inhabitant's from their own.

She crept slowly down the scarred stairs that had once gleamed with polish and care. They creaked in protest with each step that she took, and she could not help but notice the gaps where some of the balusters had been robbed. Her footfalls seemed like gunshots in the silence of the house; it seemed to magnify in her ears. But she knew that no one else could hear for Melanie, Suellen, Careen, and the babies and the darkies simply were too weak and too exhausted to be doing anything other than sleeping. They had to have the sleep in order to help her with the thankless tasks in keeping the plantation running.

The floor was cold, and she had no slippers. There was only one semi-decent pair of shoes between them all. Things like slippers and sometimes it seemed like food was too much of a luxury to be had these days. The weather had turned cold, it seemed in an instant. This was not the weather that she was accustomed to. At this time of year, the air was normally still warm, the sun still glinting brightly on the trees, and leaves slowly losing their hold on the branches. But nothing was normal this year. Earlier in the day the air had gently caressed her skin as Scarlett had worked outside. She had been thankful that the intense heat of September had gone, leaving the crisper air that followed into October. But now there was not enough wood to burn to keep everyone warm. There was not enough of anything.

She found a seat in the Parlor and snuggled into the threadbare cushions that sagged pathetically. Her weary mind drifted in a hazy fog until she glanced at the calendar on the wall. Was it really Halloween night, the night when Pa had told her that the veil between the world of living and the world of the dead was at its thinnest. He had regaled his daughters with tales of Banshees and hob goblins and other sorts of mischievous spirits that spilled into the regular world on this one night until Mammy or mother would try to intercede.

As a child she had been enthralled with her father's stories. Carreen had tried to bravely listen, clutching her little hands tightly to her chest as her eyes grew wide, while Suellen sniffled and peeked through her fingers until Mother sent them both to bed. But Gerald would take Scarlett onto his lap and praise his brave child as his tales grew more and more fantastic and elaborate. But those tales from her childhood had not been forgotten, and now the chill wind whipping around the house became ominous and frightening. She had faced so much, surely this shouldn't bother her, but it did.

She closed her eyes and hoped to block out the sounds and evade those fears that were pressing upon her. Oh, how she longed for a drink, for the soothing burn of alcohol to warm her limbs and calm her frayed nerves—anything that might dull this aching sting of what her life had become. Even Pa's dreadful corn whisky would have sufficed, but that, like everything else of any worth at Tara was now gone.

If she'd had the energy Scarlett might have cried at the desperateness of their situation as the long winter months loomed ahead. But there seemed little point in crying when it would accomplish nothing and all she'd get in return would be a headache and dry eyes. Instead she simply sat quietly drawing in long deep breaths and letting them out just as slowly.

A while later, how long she couldn't say, above the wind a different noise caught her attention, making her eyes snap open and her body tense. It was a faint and slow but rhythmic thudding that appeared to be coming from a room across the hall. She listened closely, every nerve-ending alert, palms sweating and breathing suspended as she strained her ears to identify the sound.


	2. Chapter 2

Slow, heavy footsteps. It was boots on the floorboards.

Scarlett breathed a sigh and began to relax. It had to be Gerald. He was the only one besides herself who could be found wandering the halls of Tara at night.

Would he have his wits about him, she wondered, as she swung her bare feet down onto the floor. Scarlett cringed at the idea of again finding her father in his nightgown wandering aimlessly about his house in search of whisky or a bite to eat where there was none, or worse, the wife who was missing from their bed.

She knew he went into Ellen's office sometimes - when he remembered - just as Scarlett herself did when she was lonely or struggling to cope and missing her mother. She gained comfort in simply to being amongst her things. To run her fingers over the account books, sit in her mother's chair and smell the faint scent of lemon verbena that still hung in the room gave her a sense of calm and she suspected Gerald felt the same when he was in there.

"Oh Pa," she sighed softly as she got to her feet, dreading having to break her father's heart once more with the news that his wife wouldn't be returning to bed with him. There were times she wanted to shout at him, to grab him by the shoulders and shake sense into him, to impress upon him the truth in such certain terms that it left him in no doubt as to his wife's fate. But she knew it would do little more than upset him. Tears from her father was one thing Scarlett couldn't bear, and tomorrow she would be right back where she'd started.

His mind was no longer his, and in the two months since her return to Tara she had quickly come to realise it was kinder to concoct a lie to placate him and leave it at that. If Gerald queried her whereabouts, Scarlett would simply tell him Mother was out tending the sick and would be back whenever she was able. He would grumble, she knew, admonish his wife for working herself too hard, but he would return to his room, satisfied by his daughter's explanation nonetheless.

As she stepped out into the gloomy hall Scarlett's eyes caught sight of a knapsack leaning against the wall by the door. She frowned at it in the darkness, wondering why Pa would have brought this of all things downstairs with him in the dead of night. The memory of its former owner and his fate at her hands tried to resurface but Scarlett pushed the thought away. Such recollections would only serve to jangle her overwrought nerves even more on a night such as this.

As the footfalls in the dining room caught her attention once more, the hairs on the back of her neck prickled to attention. She shivered involuntarily, reproaching herself for being ridiculous - it was only Pa, after all - squared her small shoulders and crossed the hall to the opposite doorway.

Only the figure, illuminated by the moonlight, that stood in front of the sideboard was not that of her father at all. Scarlett's blood chilled in her veins as she realised her mistake. _Yankee _her mind chanted, even before she registered the faded blue of his uniform. Who else but a Yankee would come into her house in the dead of night? Dear God, would they never leave her alone?

But of course he could have snuck in undetected in such weather, it would have been so easy with the wind and the storm that howled all around. He could have come in, taken what little was left to take and no-one would have been any the wiser. He wouldn't expect to find someone out of bed on such a foul night.

Scarlett stood momentarily frozen in the doorway, hands clenched into fists by her sides, the nails biting into the flesh of her palms as she saw what he was doing. Any thought of flight was overridden, immobilised by the sight of his filthy hands rummaging through her mother's small rosewood sewing box.

But what was it doing in there? She removed it to her bedroom after she'd-. Unless- unless he'd been upstairs already and brought it back down with him, one of the few spoils he could find in the plundered house.

Righteous anger flooded her body. How dare he!

She wanted to scream at him, to rage at his effrontery at coming into to this sanctuary and defiling it so, but common sense and the holstered weapon that glinted in the moonlight at his right hip stopped her.

Scarlett didn't care what Rhett Butler said to the contrary, all Yankees _were _fiends. Again she silently cursed him for abandoning her. He ought to be here to protect her, to make himself useful, not off somewhere fighting a losing battle. This intruder could rape her or kill her where she stood before she even had a chance to summon the help of an old man or a frightened darky.

Scarlett's heart thumped frantically in her chest. For all she knew he might have murdered the whole household silently in their beds as they slept. Maybe that's what had disturbed her sleep in the first place, caused her to come downstairs, that and not the storm outside.

No, she admonished herself fiercely as her stomach clenched, that wasn't possible. He couldn't have, she would have heard. He must just now have come in to the house.

Scarlett backed away as silently as she could intent on fleeing to her room and locking the door, hiding under the bed - anywhere she couldn't be found - or rousing her father or Pork to chase him off. She retreated on wobbly legs from the doorway, hugging the wall as she went and willing the floorboards not to give her away.

When she was clear of his possible line of sight, Scarlett turned ready to run for safety upstairs only to stop dead in her tracks.

There was a dark streak, disturbingly familiar, marking the floorboards and running the length of the hallway. Trembling now Scarlett edged further away into the safety of the shadows, her whole body tingling with fear. It hadn't been there moments ago when she crossed this space, of that she was certain. She would have noticed.

Her eyes followed the long narrow smear from where it ended at the front door to where it began as a pool just inside the dining room door. As if something had been dragged across the floor, as if- Scarlett's mind faltered, not allowing herself to complete the thought. She knew what it looked like but her mind refused to acknowledge what it was seeing. It was impossible, she'd scrubbed that floor herself. It had to be a trick of the light, the residual of that mess must have somehow bonded to the varnish on the wood and was only visible in the glow of the moon.

She inched forward, reaching out a tentative shaking hand and touched her fingertips to the stain as if to prove to herself it wasn't there. It was wet, she discovered with horror immediately jerking her arm back, and the pads on her fingers were marked when she turned them up to see. Intuitively she knew that it was blood, even before the metallic scent that accompanied the ooze hit her nose. Scarlett turned her head away and gagged.

This wasn't natural, it wasn't possible, that this blood should be here in the exact spot it had been six weeks earlier. Scarlett struggled to breathe, her eyes darting towards the dining room as she fought the terror that was rapidly taking hold. There were no such things as ghosts or supernatural happenings in the night. They were the stuff of children's stories, made up by adults to amuse or frighten. They simply were not real!

The sound of footsteps had resumed in the next room. Desperate to get away from this aberrant scene Scarlett forced her legs to stand and backed up against the wall once more to the relative comfort of the shadows.

She edged silently towards the staircase, still several yards away, praying that the floorboards would not betray her presence. But God wasn't listening. And even as the first wooden plank beneath her foot protested her weight upon it a voice behind her spoke.

"So there is somebody ter home," came the nasal drawl, that familiar tone speaking words she remembered all too well and Scarlett stopped dead.

No guilty conscience had needled her in the weeks following the Yankee intruder's death. She had done what was necessary to protect what was hers and she felt no shame in that. But now, here on this night, had he risen from his shallow grave beneath the arbour to exact his revenge? It couldn't be!

She turned slowly to face him, going against everything within her, instinctively knowing what she would see before her despite her attempts to convince herself otherwise. Even so when her eyes reached his face she gasped in horror, and feeling the blood drain from her limbs, sagged against the wall for support as her legs threatened to fail her.

His face was missing, a hole where his nose should have been, his eyes glazed and the skin burned black around the edges of the wound.

"All alone, little lady?" the voice asked emanating from the cavity that had once been his mouth and repeating the words that had replayed over in her mind these many weeks. The head cocked slightly to the left with the same contempt it had displayed to her in life as he awaited her answer.

Except this time she had none to give. Scarlett had no weapon to defend herself. And had she had a pistol, what good would it have done against such an entity?

She remained momentarily petrified, transfixed by the grisly image before her until it took a step closer, then regaining her wits she turned and fled for the stairs.

She slipped in the hall, her feet hitting the blood as she ran and she went down hard, crying out as her hands and wrists jarred painfully breaking her fall. The pool seemed to have expanded exponentially over the floor now covering a great swath of it and Scarlett was powerless against the slick beneath her.

An icy hand behind her gripped her ankle and she kicked frantically at it with her other foot. The grasp loosened enough for her to free herself. She scrambled to her feet again only to go down once more, her nightdress now stained red.

Then he was above her, hands on her arms turning her over roughly to face him. She desperately tried to free herself, to push backwards on the slippery surface but it was useless. She had no real control over her body, her limbs floundering, and she knew her struggle was futile. He was stronger than she, possibly even more so than he would have been in life.

His putrid hand went like a vice around her throat as he drew his weapon from its holster and Scarlett understood with a certainty that went bone deep that this was a battle she could not win.

There were times in the past when she had idly wondered if ever faced with a situation such as this what her reaction might be. Would she scream? So many woman she knew would, or simply faint. She now wished that she was as nervous as Aunt Pitty, prone to the vapours at the slightest provocation.

But she was not, and as the cold metal of the pistol's muzzle touched her forehead an unnatural calm descended. Fighting was useless she knew, all that was left was to simply close her eyes and accept her fate.

Like the storm directly overhead the white flash preceded the loud crash by only the most infinitesimal margin and then everything was black.


	3. Chapter 3

There will be no chapter this evening. I have a wedding to work, so the next chapter will be posted on sunday. Thanks for all of the reviews! And thanks for reading.

She opened her eyes to find that she had slumped over in her sleep, so that her hair had fallen across her eyes, blocking out the light. The storm was growing more intense outside, a crack of lighting followed by thunder that rolled so loudly that she jumped in fright. Obviously a crack of lighting and the corresponding thunder had awakened her from her slumber. The wind rattled the few remaining panes of glass in the windows, as the house creaked in protest. Outside of the noises of the storm, there was no other sound than a faint eerie rattling that Scarlett was at a loss to explain. Each of the sounds seemed to strengthen until, she felt as if the whistling wind and creakings of the house were louder and more frightening than even the shells falling in the streets of Atlanta.

"Stop being such a scaredy cat!" She chided herself out loud, her voice echoing in the barren roome. "It is just the wind."

She was no shrinking violet, nor had she even been. She had been the one to frighten others, not the little ninny cowering in a corner. She remembered many escapades with Brent and Stuart, playing pranks on Suellen so that she would run back to the house in tears. Mammy had chastised her many times, but the she had never given up. She could still almost hear the rolling laughs from the twins doubled over as they laughed at Scarlett's little sister, or one of their own. But no, she couldn't allow herself to think about how it had been. She couldn't think about the life that was so far from the life that she now lived.

But as she spoke she heard the distinctive thud as the front door suddenly blew open. She could see the trails of leaves that fluttered and blew into the room, dancing past the open door into the parlor. "Who is there?" She cried in a thin voice that held a faint quiver.

For a moment she imagined who might be there, she imagined that her father was again in his right mind, that he would be there to protect her. But the days since she had returned had dispelled that notion. Her father was gone, never to return again. She was vulnerable. They all were. She had no one to rely on other than herself. No one else had the strength that she had. She was no longer the spoiled, pampered Belle of three counties. She was the only thing between her people and starvation and death. And she was only hanging on, they were all hanging on by only a gossamer thread.

She rose from her seat and softly padded across the room to hide by the wall that separated her from whoever had come to call. Perhaps this would give her an advantage, perhaps she could surprise them… and what? It wasn't as if she would be able to kill something with her bare hands. But she closed her eyes as she pressed herself deeply against the wall. She waited apprehensively, the wall firm and smooth behind her back. Tension was thick in the air as she anticipated a stranger walking past the door to the parlor where she stood in wait. And yet there was no discernible sound, there was nothing other than the howling wind and the creaking of the house.

And then out of the darkness he was suddenly upon her. She attacked him with her bare hands, having nothing other than her own body to protect that which she held most dear. She flung herself against this intruder, scratching and clawing until a voice pierced through her panic.

"Scarlett, Scarlett. Stop! Scarlett, I'm not going to hurt you! You are safe." A familiar voice rang in her ears.

She opened her eyes and stopped struggling, "Rhett?"

The relief from it being him was enough to make her cry. As angry as she should have been, as angry that she was at moments when she thought of his dissertation at Rough and Ready, she was so thankful to see him. His coat was disheveled. He had grown a beard since he had left her. He looked nothing like the dandy that he had once been. But didn't care. He made her feel safe ,and she collapsed into his arms, sobbing and shaking against his chest. His hand stroked her tangled hair, brushing it out of her face.

"I have you now. You are safe." He crooned.

She closed her eyes and leaned limply into her embrace. "I was afraid you were another straggler -- that you were going to violate me." Weak tears seeped from her eyes.

"Another stranger?" His eyes pierced darkly into her eyes.

"There was a Yankee…." She began softly.

Instantly Rhett was on alert. "Did he hurt you?" was his first question. "Are you all right? Scarlett, answer me." He asked in such rapid succession that she had no time to respond.

"I'm fine. I don't want to talk about it." Scarlett replied turning away from him.

"How did you get rid of him?" Rhett prodded.

Scarlett became eerily still. Her hands were clutched tightly together and no sound came from her throat. Rhett led her to a chair, where she sat precariously. Then Rhett knelt in front of her and took her icy hands in his. "Tell me what happened. I need to know."

"I shot him. He was going to violate me. He had mother's rosewood box." Her voice was flat and unemotional in the recitation of the details.

"God, Scarlett. I am glad you shot him. You had to protect yourself." His eyes were warm and caring as he rubbed his thumbs over the backs of her hands. "I have you now. Nothing is going to hurt you now." He comforted. He stood and took a step back and eyed her thin frame. "Have you been eating?" He quizzed

She turned away from him at this question, embarrassed at her thinness. Food had not been plentiful in Atlanta before they had fled, but food had become nearly non-existent. She tugged at the sleeves of her robe, for until that moment it hadn't occurred to her that she was in her night clothes. "You need to leave."

"Where do you expect me to go? I'm a deserter, I'm not exactly welcome." He told her, raking his hand through his dirty locks. "And it doesn't appear that anyone is at Twelve Oaks to welcome me with their hospitality."

She shrugged and glared at him, wrapping her arms tightly around herself.

He glanced at the exposed skin that was scratched and scrapped.

His eyes were naked with emotion, "If I had known, I would never have done this to you, I would never have let you come all the way out here, if only I had understood the devastation that you would have to face. " He reached out and took her hand and kissed it gently. "I will keep you safe, you don't have to struggle anymore. I will keep you safe." He chuckled softly, "should you wake your parents? I imagine that they won't be pleased to find a man begin entertained by their daughter."

Tears formed in her eyes, "Pa doesn't know what is going on, and mother, well, she's gone."

The realization of what she had said, slowly registered. "Scarlett, I'm so sorry." He silently pondered the ramifications upon the young woman before him. Who was there to take care of her, or of any of them. He took her in his arms and cradled her to his chest as if she were a small child.

"Oh, Rhett," she cried. "I am so glad that you came. It has been so terrible. There isn't enough of anything." She drew away from him so that she could see his chiseled profile better. "Rhett, you're bleeding." She cried in horror, as she stared at the stain that had transferred from him to her night gown. "Rhett, you are hurt. Rhett, why didn't you tell me?" She pulled at his shirt, so that she could better see the wound. "Should I go wake Mammy? She will know what to do."

"Don't bother, Scarlett. I was a fool. If I die, it's no less than I deserve. " He stated grimly.

"Lie down, Rhett. Please, for me." She pleaded.

He slowly sank to his knees and then with her aid, he lay down on the rug. She tore the shirt away and was horrified to see that the wound was large and gaping, and it looked like it has been that way for several days. There was blood and puss, and the injury was far too great for her to feel as if she could do anything about it.

His eyes drifter closed, as she stared in horror, unable to do anything. "I need to clean this Rhett." She said with grim determination. "I'll be right back."

"Don't bother." He rasped, his voice suddenly sounding weaker and thinner and more strained.

She rushed from the room her heart thudding in her chest. As much as he annoyed her at times, she couldn't imagine a world without Rhett Butler in it. She had grown accustomed to his presence. She had even considered that she might love him, but if he were to die how would she ever know. He had appeared so suddenly, when she needed him more than ever. Her hands were shaking as she grabbed the pitcher of water that she had filled the night before, and some of the water sloshed out and spilled on her gown. She grabbed a handful of rags and rushed back to the room where Rhett was waiting for her. She knelt at his side, and began trying to clean his wound. But already she could see the signs. Gangrene was setting in. The wound stank of rot, and there would be no way to save him. He groaned each time that her hands moved over the tender flesh.

"Rhett, you have to hang on. Please Rhett! Stay with me, Rhett. Fight for me!" Scarlett cried.

But his skin was turning ashen, and his breath was now coming in rasps. The death rattle was already settling in.

"Rhett, no! Please!" her mind was rushing with a thousand thoughts, trying to find a way to save him. "Here bite down on this." She offered him a leather strap. "I've got to get this infection out. You're going to die if I don't."

She rose again and rushed into the kitchen and grabbed a sharp knife, which she quickly pulled through the flickering light of the burning tallow in a bowl. Then she rushed back to the room.

But he had disappeared. "Rhett! Rhett!" she cried. "Where are you? Rhett!" But there was no answer other than the howling wind and another crack of lightning. She rushed back into the hall, not understanding how he had moved from his prone position, but she searched each room of the house, even venturing out onto the porch and looking around the perimeter of the house. "Rhett!" her voice was shrill. "Rhett!"

…


	4. Chapter 4

"Scarlett, shhh. Scarlett wake up! Darling, its only a nightmare. I'm here."

She stilled her frantic motions and opened her eyes, sucking in deep gulps of air. Tears had left glistening tracks on her face, and still her heart was racing with the panic of the nightmare. Thankfully it had only been a nightmare, and with his arms so close the terror of it was already fading.

Then his arms were around her, lifting her from the bed. She nestled into his embrace and sighed wearily. Her nightmares always left her exhausted and shaky and in desperate need of a drink. How was it that Rhett understood that so well?

Her life with Rhett was supposed to be only happiness, so why was it that she could not shake these nightmares.

"Are you all right?" Rhett voice questioned softly.

She nodded still afraid to speak, afraid that somehow her voice would betray the terror that she had felt.

"Do you want to tell me about? You were screaming my name." He said, gently setting her on the settee that was in the parlor off of their suite. "Do you want some brandy?" He asked as he moved towards the decanter that was kept near the window.

She cleared her throat and finally spoke, "Please Rhett."

He poured out a shot and then held it with her as she moved it to her mouth for her hand was shaking so violently that she would have spilled the glasses contents down the front of her robe. The brandy burned as it flowed down her throat, and was thankful for Rhett's presence as he took the empty seat beside her. "What were you dreaming?"

She shrugged her shoulders, "I don't remember. I just know that something was horribly wrong, and I felt completely alone."

"Well you are safe now." He reached an arm around her and pulled her tightly against him. "And soon, you'll get so used to being safe and protected that you won't remember these nightmares anymore."

She relaxed against him, her head falling onto his shoulder. "I hope that you are right. I feel like a complete little ninny to get so worked up about dreams. Why, they can't hurt me."

He was playing with a loose strand of hair as he watched her face. "Do you need another drink?" He asked solemnly.

"No, I'm fine. I'm sorry that I woke you." She offered her voice faint as she was already drifting back to sleep. His presence always seemed to be the quickest way for her to shake off the icy tentacles of a nightmare.

"Let's get you back in bed before you fall asleep and I have to carry you." He told her with a chuckle. But his words were spoken too late, for her eyes had fluttered shut, and she had disappeared once again into dream land. Her body was limp against him, and her legs wobbled when he tried to stand her up.

"Don't worry. You'll always be safe when I'm here," he whispered to her sleeping form. He softly kissed her red lips as he slowly moved towards the door. "I'm in love with you, my pet." He spoke quietly knowing that she would never know how much he loved her until she told him first.

He gently placed her prone form on the bed before climbing in on his side to join her. She gravitated in her sleep to his warmth, and sighed contentedly as his arms pulled her close. "Goodnight, my love." He whispered softly into her hair, and then closed his eyes as well.


	5. Chapter 5

She awoke as she had for the last decade to an empty bed. That shuddering feeling, of feeling for a moment that she would wake to find him at her side, that the last decade hadn't happened. The nightmares had only strengthened as the years slipped past, and now that Ella and Wade were both gone to school, the house seemed so empty and hollow.

She rolled over, her eyes avoiding the space where Rhett had so briefly resided. She had always held out hope that he would return to her, that eventually he would give her just one more chance, that was all that she needed. She knew that if he let her she could prove her love to him. But alas that was not to be. He visited as he had promised, but there were only for that purpose. They were little more than strangers sitting across the table from each other, and that was the sum total of their contact.

She rose on shaking legs and pulled the cord to summon a servant to help her dress. She did not relish that task of dressing for this day. Wade and Ella were to both arrive by train for a few days this morning, and then everything would happen this afternoon. Even before dressing she poured herself a glass of brandy. "Its only for my nerves," she told herself. Her voice echoed oddly in the vacant bedroom.

And yet of course there was no answer to her words, there was now only a skeleton crew working in the kitchens. She was alone in the house, and the servants were few. She had no desire to entertain, and now it was not permissible for her to do so, except for today. Today people might come, but there was no guarantee that anyone would show up. She had no reputation. Hadn't he always said that with enough money, one could do without a reputation? Well she was living that cold, somber existence, and it held no charm for her.

The maid arrived, and helped with the arduous task of readying herself for the day. As each layer was added, she was reminded of everyday like this one that had come before. Of the layers and layers of taffeta ruffles that symbolized what she only now felt.

The laces dug into her side, but it mattered none to her. The emptiness in her heart was too great as to be eclipsed by something as trivial as the stays that she had been wearing since childhood.

"Oh, Rhett." She sighed, not caring that the maid was gawking at her. The servants knew the innermost workings of the Butler marriage, as the servants always seemed to know such details. "If only I had been a better wife, when we first married, if only I had realized that I loved you and that you loved me."

The maid finished her tasks of dressing Mrs. Butler, and then asked, "do you need me ta fix your hair?" She asked.

Scarlett shook her head and sat down at the bureau and began brushing out the snarls that had resulted from her fitful sleep. Even after the maid left the room, She felt as if someone was still there beside, as if another's hand were gently pulling the brush through her hair. It was as if she need only to turn and she would see them out of the corner of her eye. "I'm just being silly." She chided softly, and yet the feeling clung to her, as she dressed her hair, as she left her room, as she out of ritual poked her head into Rhett's room that was very nearly a shrine to her husband and her youngest child. Of course no one was there.

And as she descended the stairs she could feel that presence, as if it was merely at her elbow, supporting her as Rhett had once done. In some manner it comforted her, as oddly as that seemed.

The servants had fixed breakfast for her, elaborately spread before her, but she had no appetite. Rhett would mock her if he still spoke to her. He would comment that "Surely this couldn't be Scarlett O'Hara, who scrapped her plate in New Orleans." Or perhaps he would understand, and just silently watch her.

She nibbled on a few bites of toast to settle her stomach, before rising from the table. She needed to be at the station to pick up the children, whether they were really still children could be debated. Wade was well into his time at Harvard, becoming a lawyer just like his father. And Ella had changed since that day that Rhett left. She was no longer a giddy, silly child. Instead she was still and silent and very reserved. She was afraid of her mother, and nothing that Scarlett did or said seemed to be able to break down her fragile wall.

But now she was going to be all her children had. She had been all that her children had for eight years. She only hoped that one day that they would know that she had loved them, even if she had been very incapable of showing them.

Wade and Ella both were very stoic as they stepped into their mother's carriage, but tear streaks were still visible on Ella's face. "I'm sorry, Mother." Was all she said, as if silently understanding that no other words were needed.

The day was very somber, and few people called at the house. No one wanted to step past the threshold, past the ebony wreath that hung there. When it was finally time, Scarlett took one last look into the parlor before the servants began their work.

Wade lifted her into the waiting carriage, and she tried in vain to stem the flow of tears. "He loved you very much." She finally choked out.

"I don't think that he loved us. I think he only loved himself and Bonnie and whiskey." Wade's anger was very close to bubbling to the surface.

The carriage slowly made its way over the hills to Oakland cemetery, following the soulless black hearse. Ella sat without speaking, as Scarlett began to sob. "I'm not certain that I can do this." She gasped, the corset laces seemly tightening and constricting like a vise around her heart.

"Look, mother, no one is going to say anything if you can't. He was horrid to you. Its not as if anyone even showed up to pay their respects."

And indeed only a smattering of people had come out to honor his memory. The service passed in a blur, until Scarlett felt as if her chest would burst. But she maintained her composure until everyone but the children had disappeared. The little bit of toast from breakfast had not done its job, and so it was expelled quietly behind the carriage as Wade held her head.

The drive home was tedious and uncomfortable as Scarlett sagged against the side of the carriage. Wade and Ella were silently watching her from their side of the carriage. And yet she couldn't shake the feeling that there was comforting hand rubbing slow circles on the back of her hand as she cried.

She couldn't face company, and trudged up to her room. The maid seemed to have known that her mistress would need to be helped to bed, and anticipated her every move. And once undressed, Scarlett waved away the hovering servant with a wave.

She sat at the mirror, slowly combing out her hair once again. And yet again, it was as if someone's hand was holding hers with every move. And finally she knew, she recognized that feeling. It wasn't just as if someone were there, it was as if Rhett was once again at her side, as in the early days of their marriage. She peered into the mirror, and she could almost see him again, a gossamer shadow in the darkness, seated behind her as he had once done – brushing her hair until it snapped with electricity.

"Oh, Rhett," she cried. "Why did you leave me? Why did you have to die?"

And in the silence she could hear his deep voice assuring her, "As soon as my heart stopped beating, I was here with you, in the still of the night. It is my hand that guards you, when your dreams don't turn out right. Here in this quiet darkness, I am now made new. And finally my pride is gone, and I admit that I loved you."

Her sobs began anew as she moved to the empty bed, but yet it was no longer empty, for she could feel him beside her, and she knew that if only peered at the spot in the right way, that she would see him, smiling at her, completely unguarded. And she listened and cried, as he held her in the still of the night.

The End.


End file.
